


Hold On To Your Heart

by Bold_Cherry



Category: Brallon - Fandom
Genre: AU, British!Brendon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bold_Cherry/pseuds/Bold_Cherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallon J. Weekes is one of the most successful golf players of all time, and his life is practically perfect. That is, untill the day he is badly injured in a car accident, and it all falls apart. He retracts to the UK to start over, and someone very special stumbles into the mess he barely calls a life. But maybe that's just what he needs..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I got an idea. I'm bad at making my ideas happen. I decided to prove myself wrong, and this is me trying to prove to myself and others that I can write. There's going to be a lot of songs mentioned, and I'll name them all by the end of each chapter.  
> I'd like to dedicate this story to my friend and the biggest Brallon-shipper I know: Hannah. Thank you for your enthusiasm and support.
> 
> Have a good read!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And well, don't you see  
> I'm the narrator and this is just a prologue

It’s a perfect backswing. He can sense it the moment he pulls the club back from where it’s hovering about an inch above the ground, right next to the small, white ball resting on one of his custommade tees. Everything glides as he draws his driver back, the heavy weight of it’s head pulling at his hips, but he knows to keep them in place, he’s spend years getting them to stay and not move before he has to drag the club back towards the ground, at something that seems like lightning speed. He faintly registers the whoosh-sound of the driver being drawn perfectly through the air, the pling as metal hits hard plastic, sending the golfball flying over the fairway. Dallon keeps his stance, perfectly balanced, with the club behind his neck, one foot firmly planted on the ground, the other having been pulled up to it’s toes. The ball keeps flying, higher and higher, untill it reaches the point in the sky where it blends in with the clouds and the sky, then reemerges seconds later, going down and landing perfectly on the green, only about a foot from the flag. Dallon releases his breath and lets a small, content smile find it’s way onto his face. It quickly dissapears again though, as the ball starts rolling. With trained eyes, he quickly scales the green - It has a slight curve to it, and it seems his ball landed just where it had to, to roll, steadily and slowly, straight towards the cup. It feels like the entire world holds it’s breath. The crowd is as silent as death, Dallon’s fingers tighten around the grip of the club, as the ball hits the corner of the cup and--

Drops in.

 

Anyone who knows anything about golf knows the name Dallon James Weekes. The number one, the best player in the world. One of the most winning golfers of all time. He came out of nowhere, slightly awkward looking with a shy smile, at the shocking age of nineteen. A young guy, a teenager, from Salt Lake City, with such determination set in steely-blue eyes and such force in his swing, it knocked some of the most experienced professionals right off the course. He was praised to heaven and back, shooting up the ranks untill it was there, his name at the very top. On his 21st birthday, the papers were gushing about how he’d won yet another title, married a gorgeous model named Breezy, and was probably one of the most talented golfers around right now. The money from nearly equal parts of PR and winning tournaments were rolling in, making him a multi-millionaire.

Dallon thought his life was pretty fucking great.

 

That is, untill the day it all came crashing down around him. 

He was 25 years old, still number one, still winning tournament after tournament, still married to a model, still friends with all the right people, still a multi-millionaire. 

He’d been out drinking. Alone, of course, but Breezy didn’t know. She knew he was out, but thought it was with friends. The truth was, that a few times a year, Dallon would dress in extra tight jeans, style his hair a bit more than usual and drive his least noticeable car down to a part of Los Angeles, where he certainly wasn’t expected to be seen. The club was full of people, it always was, and that was why Dallon liked it - The more crowded, the less chances someone would recognize him, and possibly out him to the media.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his sexuality. He never had been. Confused at first, obviously, because how, exactly, do you wrap your head around the fact that you find girls and boys equally attractive? He’d chosen to accept it as a part of him, but aslo chosen not to tell anyone. Not even Breezy. He didn’t want it to come out, ever, it could and most likely would, shatter his career. He would still be able to play and win, of course, but he knew he would never be able to do an interview ever again, without being asked about his sexuality, and he really didn’t want that. His sexuality was none of anybody’s business.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself as he stood in that gay club in downtown LA, looking at guys wearing stylish clothes and loose wrists, he did like boys a bit more than girls. Just maybe.

That January night, he’d met a boy a year younger than him. Dallon was taller, but certainly not as muscular as this guy, Matthew. He was almost quivering at the thought of getting to bottom again.

They’d gotten into Dallon’s car, heading off to the nearest motel, and they were just driving calmly on a main road, when suddenly, out of nowhere, another car came crashing into the driver’s side, at a speed so fast Dallon didn’t even register it happening.

 

He was kept in coma for two weeks. The media went crazy, Breezy barely left the hospital, fans send letters and small gifts, all with wishes of him getting better soon, and journalists were camping outside the hospital.

 

The first thing he felt when he finally woke up was pain. Intense, glowing pain shooting down his entire left side. He looked, saw his arm and leg looking like they’d been dipped in plaster, and the only reason he didn’t throw up right there, wass the fact that he hadn’t actually eaten anything in two weeks.

After a few days of waking up, getting back to reality, the doctor informed him of his injuries. The bones in his arm and leg had pretty much been smashed to pieces, several ribs were broken, and maybe he would experience problems with memory in the future.

But after the long speech of broken this and that, and latin names of something, the doctor finally decided to stop dancing around the subject, and tell him the truth.  
«You probably won’t be able to play for the next year, mr. Weekes, if ever again. I’m very sorry.»

Dallon doesn’t remember the following two weeks.

 

After two months of hospitalization, Breezy pushed him in his wheelchair out the backdoor of the hospital, to avoid all the journalists and eager photographers. Dallon usually loved speaking to them, enjoying the feeling of knowing he’s popular and adored. But in that moment, sitting in a wheelchair, skinnier than ever, one arm and leg plastered up and his face still bruised, he really didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

He had to talk to Breezy though. She knew there was another guy in the car with him, someone she didn’t know. She knew Dallon wasn’t with friends that night, and despite everyone’s mental stereotype of models, she is not stupid, not at all. 

She confronted him with it, upfront and blunt, demanding to know exactly who the guy was. And Dallon was too bathered, too tired, too worn-out and too hopeless to even begin and make up some stupid lie. So he told her. How he’d been cheating on her with random guys a few times a year. He cried all the way through his explanation, because he loved her, he really did, and he never meant to hurt her. None of those boys ever meant the slightest to him, they were nothing but a way of satisfying a physical, and quite strong, need he just happened to have. She forgave him. She understood that having to hide such a big part of yourself makes you do stupid things. She promised him they’d work it out, they’d be okay, everything would be okay, and he’d be out playing again in no time.

 

But of course, that wasn’t how things were meant to go.

His leg and arm healed eventually, and 10 months after the accident, he got out of the wheelchair and started the rehabilitation. Learning how to walk properly again was tricky as hell, and he spend hours, days, just learning how to take a simple step forwards without faceplanting the linoleum floor. The determination was back in his steely-blue eyes though, and on the one year mark of the accident, he walked as normal as he probably ever would. The doctor sat him down and had a long conversation with him about how he most likely wasn’t going to be able to play professional golf again. Dallon refused to accept it. He’s the world’s number one, the best, he’s Dallon James Weekes, for god’s sake!

 

He tried grabbing his driver, the one he’d made that hole-in-one with back then, when he won his first title, and take a swing out on his private driving range.  
His arm wasn’t nearly as strong as it used to be, his leg was stiffer than it should be, and an immense pain shot through his left side, all the way from his foot to his shoulder, as he swung through. He dropped the club and fell over on the ground, choking on tears and anger. He swore he’d never touch a golfclub ever again.

 

Breezy had tears and determination in her eyes the day she told him it was over.

«You won’t let me in anymore, Dallon. I know this has all been extremely hard on you, but you won’t let me help you. You don’t talk to me, you don’t talk to anyone. As much as I want to, I can’t do this any longer.»

She wiped her eyes, sniffed, and Dallon was doing his best to find something to say to her. Anything, just something, to let her know that if he could, if he just knew how, he would make everything better. If he could just find it in him, he would be the best husband she could ever have, because she deserved that. She’s amazing, she’s perfect, she forgave him for everything. But it’s like there’s nothing left in him that could possibly be turned into any of that, he’s empty, there’s no energy left in him, and even though he loved her, he knew she was right, and they’d be better off with ending it here, before he took her down with him.

«You’re right.» he said, because it’s the only thing he could think to say.

 

He watched as she packed her bags and hugged her when she left. He signed the divorce papers, sold the house, bought a planeticket and didn’t tell her when he left for Scotland, about a week before his 26th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Panic! At The Disco - The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage  
> (but you knew that didnt ya)


	2. Turn The Lights Off, Carry Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say it ain't so  
> I will not go  
> Turn the lights off  
> Carry me home

Spring in Scotland was one of Dallon’s favorite things. Born and raised in the middle of America, he was never used to open waters, green woods and the quitness of a cabin in the hills. But as a golfer, you have to visit Scotland at some point, the origin of the sport, and the first time Dallon was here, it rained for 10 days straight, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He had wanted to go there on his and Breezy’s honeymoon, but she had insisted they went to Hawaii, even though Dallon really didn’t like sun and beaches all that much (and really, he should have known that marriage was doomed).

A friend of his had a tiny little house near the water in Northern Scotland that he let Dallon borrow for as long as need be. It was in the middle of nowhere, had no electricty, was made of what Dallon thinks is probably stones and mud, and all he could see for miles on end was green fields, mountains and gray rainclouds. The water was close by, angry waves of salty seawater crashing against the bay and harsh wind wipping his dark hair all around his face when he stood in the stony sand and looked out over the dark blue ocean. He celebrated his 26th birthday by going into the nearest town, or village more like, to buy something a little more fancy than oatmeal and soup to have for dinner. He struggled to understand what the hell the natives were talking about, the accent thick and strange to him, but did catch some mumbling wondering about who this weird guy with an american accent was, and why he lived all by himself in an old cabin. He didn’t really care, the whole point of this was getting far away from anyone and everyone who knew who he was.  
He is trying to be forgotten, he wants the world to forget he ever was something. He left all his trophies and medals in a storage room back in America, along with everything he ever got from sponsors, and all of his gear. He didn’t want to be associated with that anymore, not when he was unable to ever do it again. It was embarrasing, being freaking invalid as a 26 year old.  
And that’s why he spend half of April, all of May and some of June somewhere in Scotland, very far away from everything - To be forgotten, to forget about himself, to forget about the outside world. Sleep isn’t a common guest of his, neither is hunger. It hasn’t been, ever since that accident. The accident that ruined everything, smashed his entire life to pieces (along with some of his bones) and screwed it all up. The reason he can’t just walk for hours, like he used to. The reason he isolated himself in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for almost 3 months. The reason he either gritted his teeth and fought it, or gave in and cried himself to sleep every night. 

In late May, he decided that Scotland and fields and ocean meant too much thinking, and in the middle of June, he arrived at the tiny apartment he’d rented in the middle of London.

London is full of life and noise, and it kind of reminded Dallon of being back in LA. In more than one way, as he figured out almost immediately where to look for pretty boys. He got lonely, okay, and he always made sure to ask for age, and generally be careful. He hadn’t gotten recognized yet, so he figured that a year and a half completely out of the media had made the world more or less forget him. And anyway, it wasn’t like any of those boys would ever have known who he once was. He didn’t want to remember either, which was probably why he went home with them, fucked them, and left before the sun came up. They weren’t special. They were pretty, yes, charming even, some of them. But they were all young and naïve, and while that certainly can be attractive traits, it sure wasn’t worth holding on to.

It went on like that for three weeks, random boys coming and going (actually, it was Dallon coming and going, quite literally) in no particular order, untill one night. One, otherwise regular night. About a week into July, Dallon was hanging around the bar at his usual place, when the door opened and the most gorgeous boy he had ever seen slipped in.

He was short, but not in the hobbit kind of way. His hair was black and styled, his eyes were big and a dark mahogany brown, his skin was fair and delicate, and his lips were full and looked as soft as feather pillows. His hips were round, and his jeans looked like a second skin, in no way disguising what Dallon would definitely call an applebottom, in his native language. All in all, the boy looked perfect, and Dallon instantly wanted.

It was easy. Very, very easy, he had discovered. All he had to do was talk in his american accent, buy them a drink and flash them a smile, and they were wrapped around his littlefinger. This boy was really no different. Dallon noticed that he smiled a lot, but it never quite reached his eyes, and it was always with a closed mouth. He didn’t think much of it, that really wasn’t the deal here. It took one drink to get a name, «Brendon.»  
The boy’s eyes flashed with something dark as he answered, «Twenty-two.» to Dallon’s question of, «So how old are you?». Dallon tried to actually keep conversation going for a little longer than usual, because he really liked this guy’s voice - Deep and slightly sultry, but with a hint of amusement and something very, very sweet. He also had a very nice accent, classic british, which honestly just made him all that more attractive. When Dallon asked if Brendon had an apartment of his own and the young man answered yes, Dallon jumped down from the barstool, holding out his hand to Brendon, «Let’s go, then.»

Driving really hadn’t been Dallon’s thing ever since the crash. He could get in a car with someone, sure, but driving made him anxious and honestly, scared him a lot. He couldn’t help it, he was only expecting the truck to come out of nowhere and crash into him, again. Especially if the weather was bad, if it was raining, like it was when Brendon drove them towards his place. Dallon wasn’t paying a lot of attention to his usual anxiousness though, because he was pretty busy enjoying the way Brendon’s hand resting on his thigh felt, or how gorgeous the boy looked in the flashing citylights coming in through the window and landing on his face.

He was paying attention to these things when suddenly, out of nowhere, Brendon gasped, pulled his hand back to the wheel and barely managed to swirve out of the way of the car coming straight towards them, driving in the wrong side of the road. «Bloody hell.» Brendon breathed, gripping the wheel tight but letting his shoulders fall down. Dallon had completely tensed though, and after a few seconds he choked out, «Pull over!» Brendon shot him a questioning look, apparently understood and pulled into the side of the road.

Dallon threw open his door, leaned out and emptied his stomach onto the road. «Oh my god, are you all-right?» Brendon exclaimed from next to him, placing a warm hand on his back. Dallon shook his head pathetically. «How much did you have to drink tonight?» Brendon asked, sounding worried. Dallon coughed and spit, «Almost nothing.» he said in a weak, almost non-existing voice. He heard Brendon ruffle through the compartment, and seconds later he was handed a water bottle. Grateful, he took it, and washed his mouth with the water.

He leaned back into the car, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. He was trying really, really hard not to cry. Not here, not in front of a guy he had hoped to have a one night stand with tonight. But, that was just too damn close. Too close to another crash, too close to everything he wanted to forget so badly. He put his face in his hands, leaning his elbows on his thighs and tried to breathe normally. «Are you okay?» Brendon asked, his hand on Dallon’s shoulder. There was something so sincere and sweet about Brendon’s voice and his eyes, that made Dallon want to tell him everything. Wanted to pour everything out on him, and a very big part of him told him that he wanted, needed, to be held and taken care of, just one night. But he couldn’t ask that of a 22 year old guy he’d just picked up in a bar. «Yeah, yes, I just, I was. In a car accident. A year and a half ago.» he answered, drawing in a deep breath. Brendon’s eyes widened, «Oh god, I’m sorry, was it bad?» Dallon decided he really, really liked the way Brendon pronounced A’s. «Uh, was in hospital for 10 months. Pretty bad, yeah.» he tried to sound cool and so-over-it, but thought that he probably failed a bit. Brendon stared at him, looking like he was trying to find something to say, and a song started up on the radio,

_So if you're lonely_  
 _You know I'm here waiting for you_  
 _I'm just a cross-hair_  
 _I'm just a shot away from you_

«I’m driving you home.» Brendon finally said. Dallon started to protest, but Brendon simply held up a hand, and by some kind of magic, that made Dallon shut up. «Where do you live?»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: blink-182 - All The Small Things  
> Song in the car: Franz Ferdinand - Take Me Out


	3. Wide Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I’m feeling all your heat now  
> I look into your eyes now  
> I’m feeling wide awake now  
> When I look into your eyes

«So, America, then?» Brendon said, obviously trying to diffuse the tension in the car. Dallon nodded, «Yeah.» Brendon smiled and looked at him briefly, «I’ve never been. Which state?»  
«Utah. Uh, Salt Lake City, if you know it.»  
Brendon looked amused, «I do, yes. Sounds nice.»  
Dallon shrugged, «I guess. Do you wanna go to the US someday?»  
«Yes, definitley. After I finish school, probably.»  
«Oh, you in college?»  
Brendon looked a little uncomfortable, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat before saying, «Uh, yes, I am, yes.» Dallon thought he might have crossed some kind of line, but figured it was only fair he asked, «Where are you from then?» as Brendon had asked the same thing. «I was actually born in Sheffield, but luckily, both of my parents are Londoners, so I don’t have that awful accent, thank god.» Brendon laughed lightly.  «Sheffield?» he asked, confusidly. Brendon smiled at him like he was a small child asking why the moon followed their car.  
«City up north. The accent is horrible.»  «What does it sound like?»  
Brendon made a face and laughed again. Dallon decided he really wanted Brendon to laugh all the time, because his entire face lit up, and it showed all his pearly whites and it just made him look about ten times more beautiful than he already was.  
«I can’t do it, and it’s hard to explain. But, do you know Arctic Monkeys?»  
«Uh, no?»  
Brendon’s head snapped around to stare at him with widened eyes.  
«You don’t know Arctic Monkeys?!» he nearly screeched.  «Uhm, sorry? No, I don’t.» Dallon said, feeling a little bit stupid. Brendon turned to look at the road again.  
«Oh my god, how can you live in England and not have heard of Arctic bloody Monkeys?»  «Hey, it’s not like I’ve lived here for long!» he defended. Brendon sighed, shook his head, and opened the lid on the build-in box between the seats. Ruffling around for a moment, he pulled out a CD-case in grey shades.  «Here, put this on, would you?» he said, keeping his eyes on the road and handing the jewel case to Dallon. He popped it open and stuck the CD in the player. As he waited for it to start playing, he studied the coverart. It was kept in grey and black colors, with a figure that looked like a sort of house, only three of the windows lit up, with weird and light patterns in them.  
He nearly dropped the case on the floor of the car when the first song started up, presenting thundering drums and a guitar sounding like a car chase. Brendon giggled next to him. He turned the case over in his hands and was met with mold green writing on dark grey background, telling him the names of the songs on the album.  
The singing set in. A boy with a slightly high-pitched-but-not-really-voice was singing words he couldn’t quite catch, in a weird rythm, and yes, an even weirder accent, he noticed now. He pulled out the booklet to follow the lyrics, and flipped through it untill the next one started up, the singer’s rhythm now slightly lazier.

_It's sped up to the point where they provoke_  
 _The punchline before they have told the joke_  
 _Can see a desperation to be seen_  
 _Staring at the television screen_

_It's sped up to the point where they provoke_  
 _You to tell the fucking punchline before you have told the joke_  
 _Sorry, sunshine, it doesn't exist_  
 _It wasn't in the top 100 list_

He noticed that Brendon was singing along next to him. Dallon was amused by the singer’s accent, something about the way he pronounced his O’s and U’s that sounded strange, but fitted the song.

_And it's the thousandth time that it's even bolder_  
 _Don't be surprised when you get bent over_  
 _They told ya, but you were dyin' for it_

Dallon looked over at Brendon, who was bouncing in his seat, wipping his head around, tapping the rhythm of the song on the wheel and singing along, perfectly replicating the accent.

_Saw it and she grabbed it_  
 _And it wasn't what it seemed_  
 _The kids all dream of making it_  
 _Whatever that means_

He watched the boy for a while, listening to him singing; He had a good voice. It didn’t quite match that of the singer coming out of the speakers, but a little deeper and smoother.

_Presuming that all things are equal_  
 _Who'd want to be men of the people_  
 _When there's people like you?_

Brendon finished the last line by snapping his head to look at Dallon and pointing at him, a smug grin covering his face. He laughed and reached to fiddle with the radio. «I think it’s track number 7, could you tell me what it says on the list?» he asked, looking at Dallon. Dallon turned the case over, counting the titles, as there weren’t numbers to indicate which was which. «Do Me A Favour.» he read. Brendon smiled, and forwarded untill the little screen flashed «7».  
«This is my favourite.» he said quietly, as drums and a bass started playing.

As he let Brendon into the small apartment, he tried very hard to convince himself that it was only because he was still hoping to get laid tonight, and not because he really, really did not want to be alone. He was still tense and jumpy from how close it got out there, even if listening to strange, british indie music in the car had made him calm down a lot.

«It’s not much.» he said, slightly embarrased, as Brendon stepped into the livingroom, which opened up into the tiny kitchen. It really wasn’t much. It had a bedroom, a bathroom, a livingroom/kitchen and a tiny hallway, and that was kind of it. Dallon still had a lot - like a lot - of money from his career, but he didn’t like spending it, or thinking about it. Besides, he didn’t need more than what was within these four walls. Himself, a place to live, the few things he’d brought from America. And company. Brendon took hold of his arm and guided him to the couch, «You’ve got to calm down now, you got really scared then.» he said, sitting him down. «No, seriously, I’m fine,» he tried, but all he got was a raised eyebrow and a look. «Lie down.» he was told.

He lied down on the couch, very glad that he’d picked out one actually long enough to fit him, rested his head on a pillow as Brendon sat down in the other end, letting Dallon’s feet rest in his lap. He let the fingers of his right hand circle around Dallon ancle, warm and somehow reassuring. «So do you want to tell me about that accident you mentioned? It’s obviously still got you quite upset.» he prompted after a few moments. Dallon let out a long breath, «Not really.» Brendon shrugged, «That’s all-right. But something that still affects you so much after a year and a half should be taken care of.» Dallon snorted, «What are you, some kinda therapist?» Brendon laughed lightly, «Far from it, but I’ve had my fair share of trouble.»

They were quiet for a while, Brendon’s thumb lightly stroking the inside of Dallon’s ancle, the whole thing feeling much more intimate than it should.  
«It was nothing exceptional. Just a truck that crashed into the side of my car, that’s all.» Dallon finally said, feeling like he at least owed some kind of explanation. He knew it was vague and missed about 95% of the actual story, but he’d left the whole thing back in a dark storage room, along with his stupid trophies. «Oh.» Brendon said, making a face, «How bad were your injuries?» he asked, turning his head to look at Dallon. Dallon grimaced and looked at the ceiling, «Bad. Walking’s still a slight problem.» he heard Brendon giggle, «Yes, I did notice you had a slight limp, but I figured it was from quite a different experience.» Dallon kicked his feet, hearing Brendon laugh loud and unhinged, «Shut up, I’m not even like that!»

They sit on the couch talking about everything and nothing - Music, films, America and England, books and food, untill Brendon looked out the window and exclaimed, «Bloody hell, it’s light out!» Dallon laughed at Brendon’s shocked face. He’d laughed more the past 4 hours than he had in a year. «Don’t leave me now, we were just hitting it off!» he said. Brendon smiled coyly at him, «I wasn’t going to, love.» Dallon felt a slight heat creeping up his neck, what the hell, at the nickname. «Come closer then, it’s getting cold down here.» he said, reaching his arms out towards Brendon who giggled and shifted around the couch untill he was lying on top of Dallon, «Mmm, much better.»

Dallon automatically wrapped his arms around Brendon’s waist. Brendon pushed Dallon’s hair back and looked at him for a moment, before leaning down and catching his lips in a kiss that quickly became heated as Brendon straddled Dallon hips. Brendon’s lips were warm and parted, and his hips were soft and slightly rounded, and it wasn’t actually on purpose when Dallon arched his back and crashed his crotch into Brendon’s, but the noise that escaped from the back of Brendon’s throat made him do it again and again, harder and faster each time, untill Brendon’s hands were buried deep in his hair and Dallon was gripping the backs of Brendon’s thighs. Moving against each other, fused together at the lips, Dallon felt the familiar heat pool in his stomach, untill Brendon bit on his lip and whimpered, and Dallon dug his fingers into Brendon’s thighs, moaning at the pain of the bite and the feeling of Brendon’s pants damp against his own as he came in his boxers.

They lied together for who-knows-how-long, occasionally exchanging kisses, untill Brendon pushed himself off and up, and laughed as he said, «Now I’ve really got to go.»  
Dallon got up and followed him to the door, where they shared yet another deep kiss, Dallon’s arms around Brendon’s waist, and Brendon’s arms thrown around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may or may not have made Brendon an Arctic Monkeys fan who happen to have the same favorite AM song as myself. But come on, don't you think british Brendon would have a major crush on Alex Turner?
> 
> Title: Dúné - Heat  
> First song in the car: Arctic Monkeys - Brianstorm  
> Second song in the car: Arctic Monkeys - Teddy Picker  
> Third song in the car: Arctic Monkeys - Do Me A Favour


	4. Just A Tiny Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a shame we all became such fragile, broken things  
> A memory remains, just a tiny spark  
> I give it all my oxygen  
> To let the flames begin

Dallon scrolled through the contacts in his phone, trying to figure out who the hell all those people were. In his time, he’d met a lot of people who thought they were important and gotten a lot of numbers and a lot of «call me»’s and now that he hadn’t stepped foot in that world for more than a year, he had a hard time remembering who all the names belonged to.  There’s only three names he genuinley recognized. A cold, loud «Breezy» stared back at him, with all its memories and broken promises. He tried not to think too much about that. She was always better than him, he knew it all the way. He quickly scrolled a few letters further down, to the non-telling «Home» in the middle of the list. He honestly doesn’t remember the last time he talked to his parents. Maybe that one time they visited him in hospital. He was never close to them, nor his brothers. He’s not entirely sure why, but he always had this nagging, and actually not very cocky feeling that they were jealous of him and his success, of him living a jet-set life in Los Angeles, while they were middleclass workers back in Salt Lake City.

He scrolled further down, deleting a few names here and there, wondering if buying a new phone wouldn’t just be easier, when he returned to the top and stopped to look at the name he’d scrolled past quickly before, a blank little «Brendon» shining up at him. At some point during the night they spend talking the other day, Brendon had grabbed Dallon’s phone and typed his own number in. When Brendon had walked out the door that morning, he’d winked at Dallon and said that they should see each other again and ‘‘pick up where they left off’’. Oddly enough, it had made Dallon blush a little. There was just.. Something, about Brendon. Something he couldn’t quite describe. Something about the way he talked - obviously his accent was different, but it was more than that - and the way he looked when he laughed, and how happy he’d looked when he was singing in the car, but didn’t look happy at all as soon as conversation and laughter died out, like there was some shadow wrapping around him the moment he stopped laughing, stopped talking. It was intriguing, somehow. Dallon had this urge to find out what caused it, but at the same time, that really wasn’t the purpose of their meeting. They both knew how and for what they’d met, there just happened to be this little incident that changed the course of the night.  
Dallon rolled his eyes at himself and his over-thinking, a habit he’d picked up in the last year or so, and pressed the little green icon before he could talk himself out of it.

He cursed his bad leg for being a bitch today as he limped down the stairs, and cursed himself for not having bought, or at least rented, a car, as he leaned against a lamppost, waiting for Brendon. He’d been able to _hear_ the smile in Brendon’s voice when he called him, which in turn made Dallon smile too. And it was weird because, like, it had been pretty clear what he wanted out of meeting up with Brendon today.

Said boy arrived a few minutes later in his Mini Cooper (yup, he was _that_ british and it had made Dallon giggle uncontrollably when he first realized) and Dallon went to sit in the passenger seat, which was still in the wrong side, but stalled when he noticed that someone else was already sitting there. A boy, with light-brown hair, a lot like his own, pretty features and a huge, white grin on his face. Brendon stepped out of the car on the other side and smiled at Dallon, «Hey! Sorry, you’ll have to sit in the back for a bit, I don’t think I’ll get Nate to move.» Dallon raised an eyebrow at that because _Nate_? Brendon laughed, «I just have to drop him off at his girlfriend’s, it’ll only be a couple minutes.»

The boy, Nate, turned around when Dallon slipped into the backseat, sticking his hand out and saying, still with that huge grin plastered all over his face, «Nate Ruess, nice to meet you, I’m Brendon’s roommate.» and _oh_ , okay, that made a lot more sense. Brendon laughed as he settled into the driverseat, «Also irritating best friend.» and Nate rolled his eyes, smiling affectionately. Dallon took his hand and shook it lightly, «Dallon.» he muttered, assuming Brendon had already somewhat explained who he was. Which was awkward as hell, and made him wish that Nate would just disappear, no matter how nice or pretty he was.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Well, almost silence, because a rather obnoxious and slightly out-of-tune voice was humming weirdly accented words from the speakers,

_Maybe I will never be_  
 _All the things that I wanna be_  
 _Now is not the time to cry_  
 _Now's the time to find out why_

Brendon pulled up to an apartment complex and gave Nate a quick one-armed hug before swatting at him to get out of the car, and saying something about having a good time and saying hello to whatever-her-name-was from him. When Nate had finally removed himself from the car, all white khakis and light blue shirt and styled hair (had Brendon really said _girl_ friend?) Brendon turned to look at Dallon, a tiny smirk curling his full lips upwards. «So will you get in front or continue to pout in the back?»

It was still the same man singing a few minutes later, this time a little more in tune and a slightly lower tone, and with more prominent guitar in the background,

_You need to find out_  
 _'Cause no one's gonna tell you what I'm on about_  
 _You need to find a way for what you wanna say_

«What accent is that?» Dallon asked, gesturing to the radio. Brendon laughed, «Manchester. It might just be worse than Sheffield-accent, actually.»  
«What band is it?»  
Brendon rolled his eyes and shook his head, «Do you not have music in America?» he asked, looking genuinely concerned. Dallon searched for a way to say that well, yes, they did, but he’d stopped paying attention to it a long time ago, when he’d sold his precious bassguitar to get money for new golf-clubs and..  
His thoughts stopped in their tracks, right there. Or he forced them to, because golf was not something to talk or even think about. It was over and done with, a finished chapter, in the past, behind him,  
«Dallon?» Brendon waved a hand in front of his face, «Are you all-right?»  
Dallon shook his head once to clear it of thoughts, «Yeah, sure, sorry, uh.»  
Brendon giggled at him, and turned to look at the road, «The band is called Oasis, and they’re legendary, so listen up.»  
Dallon frowned at him, «But the dude can’t sing for shit.» he said, which made Brendon almost double over laughing. He was heaving for air when he finally managed to choke out, «No, no, you’re right, he can’t.» he brought a hand up to wipe away the water that had gathered at the corner of his eye, letting a few small giggles slip out, «But he’s an arrogant git, and so is his brother, so no-one dared say a word.» he giggled again «They do have a few good ones though, their lyrics were brilliant.» he reached over to fidle with the radio, skipping songs untill he reached the one he was apparently searching for.  
A guitar started up again, soft chords but with a harsh, crunchy edge to them, one of the signature sounds of britpop. Drums joined in, along with another guitar, and then the, allegedly arrogant, singer set in,

_Slide away and give it all you've got_  
 _My today fell in from the top_  
 _I dream of you and all the things you said_  
 _I wonder where you are now_

 

They stumbled through the door of Brendon’s (and Nate’s) apartment, clinging to each other and kissing like their lives depended on it. Dallon kicked the door shut, and Brendon started to pull him towards, what he assumed had to be, a bedroom. Dallon only just managed to kick off his shoes before Brendon pulled him through a door and took Dallon with him, as he fell on the bed in the room. Brendon’s hand scrambled with purpose at the fly of Dallon’s jeans, eventually popping the button open and guiding the zipper down. Dallon pushed Brendon’s shirt up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor as Brendon brought a hand down to rub at the bulge in Dallon’s boxers, a mischiveous smile on his slightly flushed face. Dallon groaned and went to unbutton Brendon’s jeans, pulling them down and letting Brendon kick them to the floor while Dallon lifted his own shirt off and flung it to the other side of the room.

Brendon’s skin was creamy white, but not pale in the way that made him look fragile and unhealthy, and while he was skinny, he didn’t at all look like he was going to break if you touched him. Which was what Dallon was doing, touching Brendon everywhere possible. His abs, his chest, his neck, his arms, there was something intoxicating about the sparks that seemed to shoot through Dallon’s fingers everytime he brought them to Brendon’s warm skin. Brendon’s hands slipped past the waistband of Dallon’s boxers and groped around for a moment, before pushing them down and away, grabbing Dallon’s cock in one hand, the other curling around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss. Dallon went to peel off Brendon’s boxers, trying not to thrust into his hand where it was stroking him lightly, not nearly enough friction.

Brendon let go of him to reach over for the drawer in the nightstand next to the drawer. Rumagging around for a second, he pulled out a tube of lube and a condom. Letting the condom drop on the bed next to him, he pushed the tube into Dallon’s hand and pushed himself further up the bed, letting his legs fall open and his head rest on the pillow.  
Dallon unscrewed the cap and squirted the substance out in his hand, slicking up a few fingers before throwing the tube aside, and leaning over Brendon, letting one finger slide between his cheeks before pushing in. Brendon let out a long breath and almost instantly pushed back against the finger, silently urging him to add another one. Dallon smirked before letting another finger push in next to the first. Brendon’s hands clenched in the sheets, and Dallon could tell he was fighting to relax. He started carefully thrusting his fingers in and out, crooking them inside and feeling around. Brendon was pushing back against him again, moving his hips and letting small moans fall from his lips. Dallon grabbed his hip with his free hand and thrusted his fingers in deeper, crooking them again and lightly scratching downwards. Brendon’s hips bucked, and he let out a louder, drawn out moan, «God, _yes_.»

Dallon worked him open, more for teasing than actual prepping, untill Brendon grabbed his forearm, digging his nails into the skin and hissing, «If you don’t get in me this instant, I will snap your cock clean off.» Dallon snorted, but reached out for the condom, ripping the packaging open and sliding it on. Grabbing the lube again, he slicked himself up before grabbing Brendon’s thighs, urging his legs to hook around Dallon’s waist.  
The pale, british summer-sun fighting to get through the closed curtains gave the room a weirdly dim light, as Dallon pushed in, grabbing Brendon’s hips and lifting them a few inches off the bed so he could sit back on his knees and slowly sliding in. He was watching Brendon’s face, how it scrunched up at the initial push, but softened. After all, he had been worked for a good 10 minutes by Dallon’s skillfull fingers, so relaxing his muscles and taking Dallon in really wasn’t that much of a problem, as well-hung as he was.

Brendon braced his hands on the headboard, making it easier to push back as Dallon began thrusting into him, picking up a decent pace. He’d almost immediatley found Brendon’s spot, the angle of his hips making it easy to hit with each thrust, and Brendon was moaning and groaning louder and louder, as Dallon picked up the speed of his thrusts, grabbing Brendon’s hips tighter, and doing his best to last as long as possible. As much as Brendon had been prepped, open and ready, he really was tight as hell.  
Brendon brought one hand down to wrap around his cock, flicking his wrist rapidly. Dallon threw his head back and moaned, loud. He thrusted in harder and faster, making Brendon groan louder and himself move closer to the edge. He dug his fingers harder into Brendon’s soft hips and thrust in with all the power he had. Brendon screamed his name, tightening around him and streaking his own stomach as he came. Feeling Brendon’s muscles clamp down around him and hearing him scream, moan and groan had Dallon toppling over the edge with a couple of final thrusts.

 

Watching Brendon dance around his kitchen in nothing but a pair of jeans ranked very high on Dallon’s mental list of Very Good Things. Currently, he was waltzing around the tiny kitchen, singing along to another one of his bands. He’d pulled out a CD from his giant collection and put it in the stereo before pulling Dallon out of the bed and into the kitchen, telling him that sleeping during the day was no good.

_Cause now it feels like,_  
 _We kiss with one eye on our T.V. set,_  
 _And the more I give, the less I get,_  
 _Using fairground rides just to spark her smile,_  
 _There's little here to miss,_  
 _Bring back 1996_

Brendon sang, swirling around while waiting for the timer to go off, stating that his tea and Dallon’s coffee were done. Dallon was leaning against the doorframe, watching the boy with a small, amused smile on his face. He really was something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Paramore - Let The Flames Begin  
> First song in the car: Oasis - Live Forever  
> Second song in the car: Oasis - Supersonic  
> Third song in the car: Oasis - Slide Away  
> The song Brendon dances to: The Wombats - 1996


	5. Happenstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I don't know why on earth i'm calling,  
> Calling at this time of night  
> You've got me hoping for some happenstance baby  
> You've got me uptight  
> I don't who you are  
> All I know is you fold me in half

Honestly, Dallon didn’t really understand how the hell college students like Brendon and Nate could afford such a nice apartment, even together. It’s not like it was a gigantic penthouse apartment with a view of Kensington Gardens or whatever, but it was spacious for a three-room student residence. Brendon and Nate had a bedroom each, and shared the rather big livingroom, along with the shiny-white bathroom and neat, clean kitchen.  
Obviously, having been raised well, he didn’t ask. He just took to hanging out at their apartment a lot. Or well, more like hanging out in Brendon’s bedroom, but let the details be.

Currently, he was lying in Brendon’s bed, sprawled out on his back, content and sated, the sheet pulled up to his hips. He was listening to the mixture of Brendon doing something in the kitchen, and the music flowing from the stereo in the livingroom. Brendon had a huge collection of CD’s, and liked talking about all the different artists in it. The guy singing right now was one he often played and gushed about, a scrawny looking dude called Miles Kane. Brendon had been talking at lightning speed when he pulled out the CD-case and put it on the first time, but apparently Miles Kane was also buddies with the singer from Arctic Monkeys and something about them being in a band together or whatever, Dallon was a little bit distracted by the way Brendon (and his ass in particular) looked when he bent over the stereo to put the CD in.  
It was one of the softer songs playing right now, one Dallon could already hum along to.

_I'm ridiculed by my fantasy_  
 _Scheduling insanity_  
 _My eagerness comes untangled_  
 _I can't handle you_

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he noticed was Brendon straddling his stomach and kissing him awake. He giggled when Dallon cracked his eyes open, “Wake up, love. I’ve got tea and biscuits.” Dallon raised a sceptical eyebrow, which made Brendon giggle even more. “You live in England now, you will have to drink tea and eat biscuits in the afternoon, and you will like it.” he resolutely said and got off of Dallon to walk out of the bedroom. Dallon watched him go, watched the way his jeans hugged his thighs tightly, the way his hips swayed from side to side and the way his shirt clung to them. He’d gotten dressed somewhere along the way then, because Dallon was pretty sure he hadn’t been dressed when he first left the bedroom.

Pulling his shirt over his head as he emerged from the bedroom, Dallon walked towards the kitchen where Brendon was watching him, leaning against the doorframe. When he got close enough, Brendon reached out and hooked his fingers in the beltloops on Dallon’s jeans, pulling him in. Looking at Dallon for a moment, he leaned up to kiss him.  
Someone made a gagging sound from somewhere behind Brendon, and Dallon looked up to see Nate sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, hands wrapped around a mug and the biggest, shit-eating grin on his face. Brendon pulled away from Dallon, slapped Nate on the back of his head and mumbled something about, “Bloody homophobe.” to which Nate raised an eyebrow. Brendon sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, except Andrew.”  
Dallon blinked a few times and decided to let it go. In the three weeks or so that he and Brendon had been.. Had been what? Fucking? Not really, or well, not only, because they spend a lot of time listening to music and going out for lunch and just sit around talking. In the three weeks or so that they had known each other then, Dallon had learned to just let Brendon and Nate be Brendon and Nate because really, no one outside of that friendship could keep up with their conversations. Apparently, they’d been friends since they were kids, something about their mother’s being friends too and growing up on the same street. Dallon liked Nate well enough, he was funny and friendly, when he was around. The girlfriend they’d dropped him off at the first time Dallon went to their place was called Rachel, he’d been told, and apparently it was The Big Thing with them. Either way, Nate spend more time at her place than he did his own, which was perfectly fine for Dallon, who would much rather be in their apartment than his own.

 

August in Los Angeles meant sun and warmth and tourists. August in London meant rain and occasional sun and tourists. Rain had always made Dallon a little grumpy, but apparently, it made Brendon very happy, because as they were walking along the Thames somewhere in London (Dallon really had no clue where he was, ever) in the pouring rain, Brendon was jumping around, dancing, laughing and getting absolutely soaked, while Dallon buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders.  
Brendon came skipping towards him, grabbed him by the wrists to pull his hands out of his pockets and dragged him along the sidewalk. “Come on! Have some fun, you grumpy old man!” he laughed, all sparkling brown eyes and huge white smiles, black hair clinging to his forehead. “You know I can’t run around like that.” Dallon replied, referring to his leg and how it still made his walk a little limpy. Brendon rolled his eyes and intertwined their fingers, “Well, just stop looking sour. Rain is wonderful!”. Dallon shot him a look, but Brendon just smiled back at him, released Dallon’s fingers and spread his arms out, turning his face up towards the skies. Dallon watched him. He was just standing there, eyes closed, in the downpour. “Doesn’t it make you feel alive?” he suddenly asked. Dallon blinked, “What?”.  
Brendon let his arms down and looked at him. “The rain. Doesn’t it make you feel alive? I mean, doesn’t it make you feel alive that you can feel the raindrops on your skin?” Dallon blinked again and Brendon rolled his eyes. “Just forget it. But cheer up, would you?”  
Dallon stepped forward and slipped his arms around Brendon’s waist, pulling him close. Brendon’s cheeky smile came back, and his arms automatically went around Dallon’s neck. Kissing in the rain, now that was something that made Dallon feel alive.  
They had to let go for air at some point, and when they did, Brendon leaned his forehead against Dallon’s, closing his eyes and sighing contently. They stood like that for a moment, the sound of raindrops hitting the river and cars passing by being the only thing breaking the silence between the two. Brendon’s hands slid up from Dallon’s neck and into his hair, and he opened his eyes, wide eyed browns meeting baby blues. He took a deep breath, and said so quietly Dallon barely heard it, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Dallon wasn’t exactly sure what actually made him nod his head as an answer and kiss Brendon again, because his mind blanked out completely and it just kind of happened. He told himself that he wasn’t in love with Brendon, that they were just having fun and being monogamous about it, that this was a way of getting on with his life, of forgetting everything that had happened the past year and a half, and decided to ignore the part of him that told him that that was bullshit.  
When Brendon let go of Dallon’s lips again, he had a small, soft smile on his face, and Dallon noticed how it reached his eyes, as opposed to what it used to when it was quiet, and just managed to think _oh shit_ before Brendon pulled out of the embrace, grabbing his hand and pulling him further down the sidewalk, grinning wider than ever, and singing a song that Dallon recognized as a Miles Kane song, and it didn’t really make him feel any better.

_Magic from your fingers tingles down my spine_  
 _Colour inbetween the lines_  
 _Let it out, let it out, let it all out_  
 _Let it out, let it out, let it all out_  
 _You rearrange my mind_

 

The warm water pouring from the shower head was just about the nicest feeling in the world after hours in very cold, english rain, Dallon decided. He stood by it too, right up untill the point where Brendon pulled the shower curtain back and stepped in, draping his arms around Dallon’s waist and resting his head on Dallon’s chest. Dallon put his hands on Brendon’s hips, kissing the top of his head and pulling him closer. He’d been freaking out about the whole boyfriend-thing for the past hour and a half or so, he’d never imagined himself to genuinely date another man. Then again, he’d never actually dated anyone else than Breezy. And how would it even work, they’d only known each other for what, a month now? And he’d have to go back to America at some point, wouldn’t he? Would they be able to work it out, would he have to tell Brendon about his past? If they actually started a relationship, he would have to tell Brendon about golf and Breezy and why, exactly, he was in a car accident, because he already knew from experience that relationships build on lies were doomed, and why waste time on something that was already sentenced to death from the beginning?  
“I can practically hear you thinking.” Brendon mumbled into his chest. Dallon sighed and pulled his arms up to wrap around Brendon’s shoulders instead, pulling him closer.  
“Do you really think we could do this.. This boyfriend-thing?” he asked. Brendon placed a few kisses on his chest before looking up at him with his huge, chocolate eyes.  
“Well, if you’re doubting it, then no, we can’t.” he let out a small sigh and brought his arms up to wrap around Dallon’s neck, seemingly his favorite place to put them, and studied Dallon’s face for a few moments before continuing, “But if you believe in it, like I do, then yes, we can.”  
As Dallon leaned in to kiss him for about the 1000th time that day, he decided that half-truths and keeping a few things in the dark would work for now, and that seeing where having Brendon as his boyfriend would take him could be quite an experience. And maybe just what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lenora for beta'ing!
> 
> Title: Miles Kane - Happenstance  
> First song: Miles Kane - My Fantasy  
> Brendon singing at the Thames: Miles Kane - Rearrange
> 
> Also the ".. Wide eyes browns meeting baby blues.." is sort of a reference to G.I.N.A.S.F.S. by Fall Out Boy
> 
> i dont think any of you understand how much i love miles kane


	6. The Truth Becomes A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's ever what it seems  
> The truth becomes a dream  
> And we reach for what we're missing in ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get confused about the lack of timeline, this is supposed to be a few scenes from Brendon and Dallon spending August together.

There was a loud banging on the door, and Nate shouting, “Would you two keep it down?” in a rather desperate tone, to which Brendon yelled, “Sod off!” and went into a frenzy of moans and yeses as Dallon wrapped a hand around his dick and started stroking in time with his carefully placed thrusts. Nate banged on the door again, “Honestly! I have no need to listen to you two shagging!” Dallon latched onto Brendon’s neck, mostly to keep himself from laughing, as Brendon shouted back, “You’re only jealous, twat!” and Nate answered, “Of getting it up the arse? I don’t think so.” Brendon dug his fingers harder into Dallon’s upper arms, wrapped his legs tighter around his waist, and started making the loudest, most obscene, slutty moans he could possibly manage. Dallon heard a faint and very pissed off, “Oh my _god_.” from outside the door, and then his attention was drawn back to Brendon tightening around him and moaning his name with much more urgency.

 

“But it doesn’t make sense! Why would you call them chips, when they are _fries_?” Dallon asked for about the 100th time. Brendon just rolled his eyes affectionately and stuffed another chip/fry into his mouth, “Because fish’n’fries sounds stupid.” Dallon threw his hands up in exasperation, nearly sending his own handful of fish’n’chips flying over his shoulder, which probably would have made the hundreds of pigeons around them on Trafalgar Square very happy. “Now, now. Don’t get upset about language differences.” Brendon giggled next to him. He reached over, picked one of the fries up from Dallon’s portion and held it up in front of Dallon’s lips. “Open up.” he said with a rather childish smirk. Dallon rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth and took the piece of once-upon-a-time-a-potato between his teeth, yanking it from Brendon’s fingers. Brendon’s smile widened, which in turn put a proud smirk on Dallon’s face and Brendon leaned over to press his lips against Dallon’s.

 

Dallon was clutching his stomach and trying his best to breathe, he could feel the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, but he just could not stop laughing. Brendon was standing on his own dining room table, stark naked, prancing around on it, swinging his hips and miscellaneous extremities from side to side, singing along to some song he’d turned all the way up on his stereo, and it just looked so _ridiculous_.

_Well your mama kept you_   
_But your daddy left you_   
_And I should’ve done you_   
_Just the sa-a-a-a-me_

Brendon half-shouted from the table, grinning down at Dallon who’d sunk to the floor, howling with laughter by now.

_Oh whoa-o-oh, I got a love that keeps me waitin’_   
_Oh whoa-o-oh, I got a love that keeps me waitin’_   
_I’m a lonely boy_   
_I’m a lonely boy_   
_Oh whoa-o-oh, I got a love that keeps me waitin’_

He proclaimed, standing at the edge of the table. Dallon gained composure enough to stand up, quickly step over to the table and snatch Brendon’s legs from under him, throwing him over Dallon’s shoulder in one swift motion. Brendon stopped singing and started screaming, shouting and laughing as Dallon carried him to the bedroom. He threw the younger boy on the bed and let himself fall down next to him, slinging an arm over his waist and pulling their bodies close. “So you’re a ‘lonely boy,’ you say?” Dallon said with a cheeky grin. Brendon grinned back at him, running a hand through his hair, “Not when I’ve got you around, love.”

 

Dallon honestly wasn’t sure when they became so domestic and.. Boyfriends. Well, it may have started the day Brendon asked if he wanted to be his boyfriend, and he said yes. Or it might have been back when Dallon went to Brendon’s apartment for the first time, and they kept seeing each other almost everyday after that. Either way, he had decided that he actually, really did not care. Because being with Brendon made him happy in a way that he hadn’t felt for more than a year. He wasn’t foolish enough to let himself believe that it was true love and meant to be and all that bull, but having someone was nice. Of course it was. When he was in Scotland, he’d done a lot of thinking, and one of the things he’d come to realize was, that even though he had Breezy, all his friends and his career, he’d felt completely alone. Surrounded by people, but still completely isolated. He hadn’t realized at the time how much of a problem his sexuality and the regular cheating had really been, at least in his own mind, but after he’d gotten it all at an arms length, he could see it. He still occasionally wondered about what had happened to Breezy, what she was doing now. He’d only been gone since April, and they were approaching September now, but knowing her, she had probably bought a new house, designed a new collection of clothes and modeled them all herself, along with probably moving to a new state. The thought of that kind of fast and ice cold life made Dallon dizzy now. He would much rather lie in his bed in his apartment in London, with his boyfriend snuggled up next to him.

 

“I start school again next week.” Brendon groaned, placing his forehead on the kitchen table. Dallon chuckled from where he was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee. Brendon looked up at him, “You think that’s funny? You won’t get to see me as much.” Dallon raised his eyebrows at him, “I think I’ll live.” Brendon pouted at him and got up to walk over to him. He snaked his arms around Dallon’s waist and rested his head on Dallon’s chest. Dallon sighed in fake exasperation and set his mug down to put his arms around Brendon and pull him closer. “Is it really gonna be that awful to not see me during the day?” he asked softly. Brendon nodded against him and mumbled into his t-shirt, “I’m going to miss my big, soft American.” Dallon frowned, “What do you mean ‘soft’?” Okay, so he hadn’t done sports in more than a year, but he hadn’t gone soft, had he? He looked down to see a small smile on Brendon’s lips, “You’re always soft and warm. It’s nice.”  
“So I’m basically a teddy-bear?”  
Brendon giggled, “Basically.”

 

Dallon made a mental note about bleaching the kitchen table about five times before eating on it again, flagged it “Important” and filed it away before kicking his jeans and boxers across the room and grabbing Brendon, who was sitting on aforementioned kitchen table, already free of clothes, by the hips and latching onto his lips. Brendon wrapped his legs around Dallon’s waist, his arms around his neck, and leaned back slightly, making it easier for Dallon to slip one hand down and rub a dry finger against him. It stung more than usual when he pushed it past the tight ring of muscle, but not enough for Brendon to even think about stopping it. One finger became two, then three and Brendon dug his fingers into Dallon’s shoulder, begging for him to get on with it. Dallon hesitated for a moment before pulling his hand away and spitting into his palm, bringing it down to rub over his cock. “You did not just do that.” Brendon said in disbelief. Dallon positioned himself and grabbed Brendon’s hips again, “Shut up.” He groaned and started to push in, and although Brendon didn’t exactly shut up, he did let it go, because the feeling of Dallon sliding into him, even at this rather awkward angle, would probably always be the best feeling he knew of.

 

“I just realized, I never asked what you study.” Dallon stated one morning (or well, closer to noon, really) while they were wrapped around each other, limbs tangling together making it impossible to determine where one ended and the other began. Brendon tensed at the question, “I, uh, I, no, I guess you didn’t.” he choked out. “Well, what do you study then?”  
“I, uhm,” Brendon cleared his throat, “I, music, I’m, I study music.” he could feel the blood rushing to his face and Dallon’s gaze resting on him, and he pressed his face into the other’s chest. “Of course you do,” Dallon said after a beat, “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You have talent.” Brendon lifted his head and smiled up at him. “Thanks. It’s just that..” he sighed and closed his eyes, “I guess, everyone always tells me it won’t get me a job, so I’ve gotten used to being judged.” Dallon frowned and tightened his arms around him. “People are stupid, don’t listen to them.” he said, and leaned up to place a kiss on Brendon’s forehead. Brendon smiled, “You’re right.”

 

Honestly, it did suck not being able to spend time with Brendon during the day. It had only been a week since he started, but they’d already gotten into the routine of Dallon sleeping in and boring his ass off for a few hours, until Brendon used the key Dallon had given him to let himself into Dallon’s apartment and collapse on top of Dallon, wherever he might be sitting or lying at the given time. Then he’d sleep while Dallon cooked or went out to get dinner, and be a little more awake for spending the evening and occasionally a few hours of the night in Dallon’s bed before going back to his own apartment to get ready for the next day, but not before clinging relentlessly to Dallon for a good ten minutes and moaning about not wanting to go.

Dallon was already looking forward to weekends and holidays, but had decided that if this was the routine they’d have to be in to spend time with each other, then so be it, because really, that would be a stupid reason to let Brendon go. Actually, he couldn’t think of any reason to let Brendon go anymore. He was still convinced they weren’t _that_ serious, though.

 

Sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee, thinking about nothing seemed nice and peaceful to Dallon, right until the front door opened and slammed shut and he nearly spilled hot coffee in his lap. Brendon stormed into the kitchen and right, he had a key. Dallon looked up and was just about to greet him when he noticed the absolutely furious look on Brendon's face. Brendon threw some magazine down on the table in front of him, crossed his arms and glared at him. "Is there something you want to tell me, Dallon?" he asked, voice nearly dripping venom. Dallon picked up the magazine and froze.

It was one of those golf magazines, a couple of years old at least, and it had his name in capitals and his smiling face on it. His face was bathed in sun and a gigantic smile nearly reflecting the rays of sunshine spread across his face. He was in his golfing outfit, he could tell by the white glove on his left hand and the trophy he was holding up. He remembered that day, he remembered the championship, the heat of the sun beating down on him, and he remembered how goddamn happy he'd been, and he remembered..

Brendon slammed his hand down flat on the table, the sound making Dallon jump out of his thoughts. "Answer me, Dallon!" he yelled "Why in god's name is your face on the cover of a bleeding magazine?" Dallon looked up at him; there was a mixture of anger, despair and something else in his eyes, and all Dallon could think to say was a quiet, "Where did you get this?"

"At the bloody dentist's office, now why the fuck is there a damn article about you, your _wife_ and your high-flying golf-career in that magazine?" Brendon shouted back. Dallon had to tell himself that this was very much not the time to be charmed by how Brendon's otherwise non-existent Sheffield-accent became prominent in his speech when he was angry, making the "fuck" come out more like "fook". He put his head in his hands and tried to breathe, practically able to hear how Brendon rolled his eyes. He picked up the magazine, flipped to a page and read in a sarcastic newsman voice, "Dallon J. Weekes recently won his second US Open championship. At the young age of twenty-three, Weekes has already won numerous championships, and is allegedly on the list of richest americans under twenty-five." Brendon looked up "And in the bloody five facts box it says 'Married to the famous model and fashion designer, Breezy Weekes.'" he threw the magazine against the wall, making Dallon flinch at the sound. "What on earth made you think that it was okay for you to keep this from me?" he shouted, even louder than before. "I wanted to forget it, okay!" he finally managed to shout back. "And you decided to use me for that?" Brendon spit out. "No, Bren, it's not like that." he said, standing up and trying to grab hold of Brendon's upper arms, "Don't fucking touch me!" he shouted, flinching away from Dallon, and starting to walk towards the door. "Brendon, please just.." Brendon turned around "No, Dallon! You've had your chance at explaining yourself, you chose not to tell me about this, and honestly, I’m probably never going to trust you again, so goodbye.'" and with that, he slammed the door shut and left Dallon standing in his kitchen, feeling like he just had a bucket of ice-water thrown in his face.

 

Brendon didn’t give two shits about the cold, british rain pouring down around him as he ran to his car, frantically unlocking it and shoving himself in the front seat, fumbling with the keys before turning the engine on. He didn’t care much for laws of traffic as he pulled out onto the road, the only thing on his mind was to get the fuck away from _him_ and his lies, and this annoying feeling of guilt that clung to his back like a fucking koala or something, making it heavy and hard to walk. He turned on the CD-player, thinking that music would drown out his mind, and nearly had a heart attack as the drumming intro of Arctic Monkeys’ «Do Me A Favour» started up. Fuck no. He changed back to radio, trying to relax in his seat as the radio DJ announced something about the next song being by an American band and being perfect for a rainy day like this, Brendon didn’t really listen.

Until the song came on and an acoustic guitar started playing chords, accompanied by a deep, powerful male voice.

_I never will forget you my American love_   
_And I’ll always remember you, wild as they come_   
_And though if I saw you I’d pretend not to know_   
_The place where you were in my heart is now closed_   
_I already live with too many ghosts_

Brendon’s eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision as he felt his heart break into even smaller pieces. Fuck all sentimental songwriters in the world, fuck them and their damn relatable lyrics, fuck them all to hell.

« _And I can’t stand the weather, no I never liked the rain.._ » was the only line he caught of the next verse, before there was a loud crash and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops..
> 
> Thanks to Hannah for beta'ing!
> 
> Title: Midtown - Nothing Is Ever What It Seems  
> Song Brendon sings and dances to: The Black Keys - Lonely Boy  
> The song playing in Brendon's car: The Gaslight Anthem - National Anthem


	7. When It All Goes To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And when it all goes to hell  
> Will you be able to tell  
> Me you're sorry  
> With a straight face?

Dallon wasn’t sure who he expected it to be when his doorphone buzzed, maybe he hoped it was Brendon coming back to let him explain, but he certainly did not expect to hear Nate’s voice, scratchy over the intercom system, telling him to, “Please open the door,”

It had been a little over a day since Brendon yelled at him and slammed the door, and Dallon hadn’t eaten, nor had he even bothered to try and sleep. He hadn’t done any crying or throwing of objects either, he had simply been sitting there, staring into thin air, trying to figure out why the hell he went and build a relationship on lies, again, even though he knew how incredibly stupid it was and that it would eventually crash and fall down around him. He had pretty much felt like one big question mark for the past 24 hours or so. He hadn’t exactly planned on settling down with Brendon, but he had thought that having him in his life, at least for a while, would help him sort himself out. He thought he’d managed that, actually, but the last few hours of thinking and confusion revealed his mind to be even messier than before, and he’d physically gagged a couple of times, because it felt like his thoughts might come out through his mouth.  
Nate looked like he hadn’t slept all night either when Dallon open the door for him. His hair was ruffled and sticking up in every direction, he had bags under his eyes, and his polite smile looked forced. It might have been the lack of sleep, but Dallon thought it looked like he’d been crying too. He greeted Dallon with a mumbled, «Hello.» and a court nod. Dallon was just about to say that if he’d come to yell at him because of Brendon, he might as well leave again, because that really wasn’t necessary, when Nate rushed into, “Brendon is in the hospital.”   
Dallon blinked, “What?”   
Nate nodded and bit his lip before continuing, “He says he doesn’t want to talk to you, but I thought..”   
Dallon cut him off, “Wait, why is he in the hospital?”   
“Car-accident. Yesterday morning, I..”   
Dallon felt a heavy weight drop to the bottom of his stomach, “Is he okay?”  
 “Well, he’s awake and talking, but..”   
“Which hospital?”   
Nate blinked up at him, “St. Mary’s, but listen, Dallon, I really don’t..”   
Dallon was out the door before Nate finished his sentence.

 

Getting a cab in London is.. Difficult, to say the least. You’d think it was easier, what with how iconic the London Cab is, but nope. Or Dallon just had bad luck with cabs. Either way, it took him forever to finally get an empty one to pull over. He threw himself in the backseat and rushed out, “St. Mary’s Hospital.”, giving himself a quick, mental pat on the shoulder for actually remembering the name. The taxidriver nodded and took off.

The receptionist shot him an unimpressed glare when he rushed up to the desk and breathlessly asked for, “Brendon Urie?”. She typed something on her keyboard, clicked her tongue and drawled out a number. Then rolled her eyes and said, “Down the hall, into the lift, second floor.” when he replied with a confused look. He was pretty sure he heard an annoyed, “Americans.” as he headed towards he hall she’d pointed him to (and seriously, how could these people tell, after having heard him say two words?) but ignored it, and ran to the lift.

He walked down the hall with long, quick steps, not wanting to run in the middle of a hospital, checking the numbers everytime he passed a door. When he finally reached the right number, he threw the door open and froze.

What met him, was Brendon sitting up in his hospital bed, looking like he’d been in a fist-fight, bruised and pale, with his hair ruffled and hooked up to an IV, but smiling. Next to him though, was an unfamiliar man and woman. The man looked like your favorite uncle, with grey hair - what little was left of it - gentle eyes and a significant belly under his nice and probably expensive shirt. The woman next to him was short and beautiful, with long, dark-brown hair, shining brown eyes, full lips and high cheekbones, and if you removed the few wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, she’d looked like the perfect girl-version of Brendon. Dallon gulped and just managed to catch Brendon’s look of absolute fury before turning on his heel.  
He all but ran back down the hall, not really wanting to leave, but really not wanting to deal with _that_ either. He remembered noticing a bathroom when he walked the opposite way, and steered towards it.

Dallon slammed the door shut and leaned against the nearest wall, running his hands over his face and through his hair. Okay, so Brendon had parents, wow, big surprise there. Dallon blinked at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, tried to remember what Nate had said, _“He says he doesn’t want to talk to you..”_  
Dallon closed his eyes and lightly hit the back of his head against the cold tiles a few times. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , of course Brendon didn’t want to see him. He’d lied to the guy about his entire past for a good two months, agreed to enter a relationship wtih him, even though he was convinced he wasn’t _actually_ in love with him, and then not done anything to stop him when he left, ran to his car in the pouring rain, obviously upset, and..  
Dallon felt sick. Another car-accident, and it was his fault. Again. He really could not blame Brendon for not wanting to see him or talk to him.  
Dallon sighed and hung his head. Brendon deserved better, anyway. He deserved someone who was able to love him. Someone who didn’t hide the better part of their life from him. Someone who wasn’t Dallon.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried his best to ignore the receptionist’s glare as he quietly walked out of the hospital again.

 

Dallon very nearly fell off his chair a week later when his phone started ringing out of nowhere. It had pretty much been the longest week of his life, and that was saying something, considering the weeks and months he’d spent in hospital, unable to do anything. He hadn’t made any attempt at contacting Brendon, or Nate for that matter, and as much as he wanted to, he had decided that he wasn’t going to. Brendon deserved better, he probably knew as much himself, and he had _said_ he didn’t want to see Dallon.

The number flashing on the screen of Dallon’s phone wasn’t a familiar one. The voice answering his slightly confused, “Hello?” was though.  
“Dallon! Thank god you’re there, you need to help me.”  
“Nate?”  
Nate sounded like he was in deep despair and Dallon felt a pang of worry hit him in the stomach. Had something happened to Brendon again? Because of him?  
“It’s Brendon, god.”  
He gulped, “What’s with him?”  
“He is driving me insane!” Nate practically yelled.  
Dallon blinked, “What?”  
“Listen, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but ever since he got back from that hospital, he’s been locked in his room.” Nate sounded like he was so frustrated he might just rip his own hair out within the next 4-5 minutes, “He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, he just sulks in his room and listens to really, _really_ loud music.”  
Dallon couldn’t help but a crack a smile at that because yeah, that sounded a lot like something Brendon would do.  
“ _Please_ just come over and talk to him before I shoot myself.” Nate begged.

Dallon could hear the music from outside Nate and Brendon’s apartment. Nate opened the door with a pained look on his face and even bigger bags under his eyes than last time Dallon had seen him. He didn’t even bother to offer Dallon a smile, just simply waved at him and started walking towards Brendon’s room.  
He leaned against the wall next to Brendon’s door and rubbed his eyes. The music was even louder now, but Dallon couldn’t quite make out what it was.  
“Just go in, he won’t hear the door open.” Nate said with possibly the most tired voice Dallon had ever heard.

Dallon grimaced and resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears as he entered the room and was nearly blown back out again by the loud, metalcore pumping out of the speakers. Brendon was lying on his bed, back facing the door.  
Dallon couldn’t make out the lyrics of the song playing, it was simply some guy yelling and screaming at him, untill it suddenly changed into another guy with a voice that was much nicer to sensitive eardrums, and those lyrics were a lot easier to make out.

_You can walk on, cause I'm leaving_  
 _Goodbye to you and everything_  
 _You can walk on, cause I'm leaving_  
 _Goodbye to you and everything_

Dallon bit his lip and tried not to take that too personal, as he walked towards the stereo. He reached out and turned it off, the sudden silence almost as deafening as the music has been. “God, how can you stand this noise?” he said.  
Brendon spun around at the sound of his voice, leaning up to rest on his elbow. Dallon took in his appearance and felt something tighten in his stomach. Brendon still had bruises on his jaw and cheeks and the aftermath of a black eye. His hair looked disheveled and unwashed, he looked even more tired than Nate, and his right hand was wrapped in gaze, while the left still wore the hospital bracelet around the wrist.  
Dallon was just about to open his mouth and say something, when Brendon grabbed his pillow and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face, and yelled, “Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!” he got off the bed, grabbing random items from his dresser and his desk to throw at Dallon, books, pencils and a glass that hit the wall behind Dallon and shattered all over the floor, while walking towards him. He shoved Dallon to the door, still screaming for him to get out, then slammed the door in his face when he was finally back in the hall.  
“Brendon! Come on!” he yelled, banging on the door. No answer.  
“Brendon, I just want to talk to you!” The music started up again on the other side of the door, not the same screaming, but definitley something angry.  
“Just open the fucking door!” he banged harder on it. No reaction.

He turned to look at Nate who was still leaning against the wall, eyes closed and looking like he might just drop dead right there. “Why don’t you go sleep at Rachel’s place?” he said. Nate opened his eyes and looked at him, “And leave that mess alone? Not happening, mate.”  
“I got it, just go get some sleep, you look half-dead.”  
Nate raised an eyebrow at him, “You’ve got this?”  
Dallon shrugged, “At the same level you do.”  
Nate looked at him for a moment longer, then sighed and pushed himself off of the wall, “Thanks. Good luck.”

Dallon waited outside the door for a while. He listened to the song playing on loop on the other side a few times, he hadn’t heard it before. He could only make out a few of the words, definitley something with “remix” and “phoenix” and “put on your war paint”, but the rest drowned in the harsh beat and the barrier of the door.  
At last, he tried grabbing the handle again. He knew it couldn’t be locked, but who knows how much crap Brendon might have stabled in front of it. It opened easily enough though, and he stepped in to find Brendon in the same position he had been before. He silently closed the door behind him, and stood there for a moment or two, listening to the song. He could make out the chorus now,

_Hey young-blood, doesn’t it feel_  
 _Like our time is running out?_  
 _I’m gonna change you like a remix_  
 _Then I’ll raise you like a phoenix_  
 _Wearing all vintage misery_  
 _No, I think it looked a little better on me_

Deciding to go about things a little more gently this time, he stepped over to the stereo and simply turned the volume down to a decent level, where actual thinking and conversation was possible. He looked over at Brendon; He didn’t react to it.  
Dallon sighed, and walked over to the bed, silently sitting down on the edge of it. Brendon hid his face in his pillow, apparently having retrieved it from the floor. Other than the same song still flowing out of the speakers, there was silence. Neither said or did anything, Dallon was afraid of even moving, he was expecting Brendon to blow up again at any moment.

It didn’t happen. What did happen, though, was that after some five or so minutes of Dallon watching Brendon and Brendon pressing his face into his pillow, Brendon’s shoulders started shaking ever-so-slightly. Dallon frowned and put a hand on one of his shoulders, but was shaken off. “Don’t touch me.” Brendon said, voice breaking at the end. Dallon got up to turn the music off, and turned around to see Brendon shaking on the bed, choking back sobs and pressing his face into the pillow.  
Dallon crouched down next to the bed, putting a hand on Brendon’s waist and sliding it up and down as soothingly as he could manage, he was never really good at comforting people. He expected to be shaken off again, but instead, Brendon started shaking even more, before apparently letting go of some kind of inhebition. He started sobbing loudly and Dallon could see him frantically wiping away tears from his face. Dallon felt his heart break, and got on the bed, slinging his arm over Brendon’s waist, pulling him close. Pressing his chest to Brendon’s back, he could feel him shaking and sobbing. Brendon tried pushing him away with his elbow, with no force at all, and whispered, “Go away.” in a broken, thick voice. Dallon nuzzled his neck and mumbled, “ ‘m not going anywhere.”, tightening his arm around Brendon. He choked on a sob, then turned around in Dallon’s arms, pressed his face to his chest and started wailing. Dallon held Brendon to him, burying his nose in his hair and trying to will back his own tears. Seeing Brendon like this, devastated and hurt, and knowing it was his own fault, was probably the worst feeling he’d ever had. It felt like absolute torture. He buried his face in Brendon’s hair, held him closer and let the tears escape his eyes. He hadn’t cried since.. Since the day he had to tell Breezy about what had been going on behind her back. The tears had been streaming down his face while he told her, just like they were now, with Brendon clinging to his t-shirt and sobbing into his chest. “I’m sorry.” he wispered, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Brendon finally stopped crying, and pulled away to look at Dallon, his eyes red and his face still a little wet, “Just explain.” he said, voice still thick. Dallon swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where the hell to even begin. “Start with Breezy?” Brendon prompted, tugging at Dallon’s shirt. Dallon exhaled, “She’s.. A model. And fashion-designer. I married her when I was twenty-one.” he was talking in an almost-whisper, not really wanting to remember these things. Especially not when Brendon’s hands on his waist and chest felt so warm and familiar, while the memory of Breezy was cold and strange. “Did you love her?” Brendon asked. Dallon huffed out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, I did.”  
“Then.. Did she leave you?”  
Dallon nodded.  
“Why?”  
Dallon let go of Brendon to roll onto his back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to not cry again. “Because I’m a horrible person.” he whispered, unable to really come up with a better answer. He felt Brendon gently prying his hands away from his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at him; He tucked Dallon’s hands into his own, half-lying over his chest, watching him. “No, you’re not.” he whispered, quietly, like he didn’t want to be heard, but certain. Dallon sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I cheated on her.” he said, and felt Brendon stiffen, “A few times a year. With guys.” he felt like he might be sick, but Brendon put a hand to his cheek and said, “Oh, love.” with fondness and something sad in his voice, like he felt bad for him. Dallon bit his tongue to keep himself from crying. “That’s how the car-accident happened.” he willed out, forcing himself to look at Brendon, who frowned, “How?”  
Dallon swallowed, “I was.. I was driving to.. To like, a motel, with.. When, just.” he scrunched his eyes shut and pressed his head into the matress. He _really_ hated thinking about this, and talking about it was even worse. He felt Brendon squeeze the hand he was still holding, heard him whisper, “It’s okay.”  
Dallon shook his head, “No it’s not.”  
Brendon pulled himself furher up to gently take Dallon’s face in his hands and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I get it.” he whispered.

Dallon circled Brendon’s wrists and felt the plastic bracelet around the left one. He pulled Brendon’s hand away to frown at it, and his eyes caught the text printed on it. 

_Urie, Brendon 04-12-19.._

“You’re _eighteen_?!” Dallon screeched in a voice that definitley wasn’t his own. Brendon looked shocked, blinked at him, then bit his lip and leaned down to rest his forehead on Dallon’s chest. “Please don’t get mad.” he heard Brendon whisper. “You said you were twenty-two!” he continued, trying not to yell. Brendon nodded against him. “Then why the fuck does it say you’re eighteen here?” he sat up, forcing Brendon to do the same. He shrugged, not looking at Dallon, “Because I am.”.  
Dallon blinked and swallowed, because _eighteen_. There had been an age difference of four years when Brendon had been twenty-two, or when Dallon had thought he was twenty-two, but that just escalated to eight years, and that might be a little more than Dallon was entirely comfortable with. Maybe if Brendon had been twenty, but he was still a teenager, and probably still in..  
“But you’re in college.” he hadn’t thought it possible, but he was even more confused now. What, was their entire relationship just build on lies? (And when did the start to actually refer to it as a relationship?)  
Brendon looked at him with a tiny smirk, “You should really do your research.”  
Dallon frowned and Brendon rolled his eyes, “College can be two things in England. University, and high school.”  
Dallon gulped, “And you’re in high school?”  
“Well, yes.” Brendon at least had the decency to blush.  
Dallon opened and closed his mouth a few times, blinking rapidly. Brendon crossed his arms and sighed, “You’ve got questions.”  
“Well, _yes_.” Dallon replied indignantly.  
“Shoot, then.”  
“Well, why don’t you live at home?”  
Brendon uncrossed his arms and moved to sit next to Dallon, back rested against the headboard of the bed. “Because my parents are well off and sent me to a boarding school in London, but I don’t like living there, so they let me stay with Nate.”  
“And how old is he?”  
Brendon huffed a laugh and picked at a loose thread on his jeans, “He’s twenty-two, like he told you. And in college. As in university.”  
Dallon nodded slowly, “So not everyone is a liar around here.”  
Brendon shot him a look, “No, I suppose Nate is the only one who hasn’t been lying.”  
It was Dallon’s turn to blush and _oh right_ he wasn’t totally clean in this scenario either.  
“Why’d you lie about your age?” he asked, turning his head to look at Brendon, who grinned and put a light hand on Dallon’s thigh, “I think you’re smart enough to figure that out yourself, despite everything.”  
Dallon rolled his eyes, “So we both lied to get the other one to put out, essentially?”. Brendon laughed next to him, squeezing his thigh playfully, “Essentially, yes.” and Dallon couldn’t help but laugh with him, and this is what he loved about Brendon, everything was so easy, even when it was hard they laughed it off, and whoa, _love_?  
Who said anything about love?  
Dallon blinked confusidly at himself. He’d spent a lot of time lately convincing himself that he wasn’t _in love_ with Brendon, he just.. Liked him. A lot. But what did that even mean? When Nate told him that Brendon was hurt, he practically ran to the hospital, no questions asked. When Brendon threw things at him and screamed at him to get out, he didn’t leave. Hell, he came over when Nate called and asked him to, he held Brendon to him while he cried his heart out, and he confessed to him, however vague it may or may not have been. And Brendon was still there, next to him on the bed, intertwining their fingers, silently saying, “It’s okay.” and Dallon felt like he threw everything overboard as he leaned in to capture Brendon’s full, soft lips with his own, slide his tongue against Brendon’s, put a hand on the back of his neck and kiss him like he meant it. And he did mean it when he pulled away and breathed the words he knew were true, and probably had been for about 2 months, he’d just been too afraid and confused to acknowledge it, “I love you.”

Brendon giggled, “Even if you’re a big, stupid american and I’m a stupid, british teenager?”  
Dallon grinned and put his hand on the back of Brendon's thigh, “ _Especially_ because you’re a teenager.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ive been busy crying about my chemical romance breaking up and listening the fuck out of fall out boy's new song which is why this chapter took so long
> 
> Title: Fall Out Boy - The Patron Saint Of Liars And Fakes  
> First song Brendon listens to in his room: Of Mice And Men - Westbound & Down  
> Second song Brendon listens to in his room: Fall Out Boy - The Phoenix (sorry not sorry i couldnt help it)


	8. I’m Not Perfect (But I Swear I’m Perfect For You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not perfect, but I swear I'm perfect for you  
> And there's no guarantee that this will be easy  
> It's not a miracle you need, believe me  
> Yeah, I'm no angel, I'm just me  
> But I will love you endlessly

_Four years later_

Dallon felt himself slip back into consciousness, felt the drowsiness slowly seep out of his limbs and his brain stirring awake. He sighed and kept his eyes closed, snuggling a little further into his pillow.

A warm, soft kiss was placed on the side of his neck, and he smiled contently. He did love the quiet, slightly-warmed-but-not-quite-yet spring mornings of Chicago, the way the sun would lazily crawl through the window and light up the bedroom, the way the traffic of the neighbourhood hadn’t caught on too bad yet, the knowledge that very soon, he would get up to make some coffee and..

His eyes shot open when a heavy weight settled on his lower stomach, and he stared straight at huge, brown eyes, the pupils blown to hell and back, a wicked, white grin and messy black hair. Soft, full lips pressed against his own before he could manage the ability of speaking, moving against his own. Dallon kissed back and placed his hands on Brendon’s hips automatically. He wasn’t surprised to find bare skin, as he knew Brendon liked sleeping naked, and he honestly wasn’t completely surprised either when he felt Brendon’s erection press against his stomach. He couldn’t help but smile against Brendon’s lips untill the boy pulled back, smiling and resting his forehead against Dallon’s.  
“Happy birthday,” he whispered, words still lathered with an accent Dallon had gotten so used to over the years, he barely noticed it anymore.  
Dallon sighed and closed his eyes, frowning.  
“I don’t want to be thirty.” he mumbled. He could practically _feel_ Brendon grinning, and he could _definitley_ feel Brendon snaking a hand down the front of the sweatpants Dallon slept in, pressing and rubbing against his cock. Dallon’s eyes flew open again, and he looked down at where Brendon had now started pulling at the pants. His hips lifted of their own accord, allowing Brendon to pull down pants and boxers in one go. Brendon kneeled between Dallon’s legs, placing a hand on each side of his hips, smiling up at him before bringing one hand up to his mouth, slowly and teasingly licking his own palm, and grabbing Dallon’s half-hard cock. He started stroking, pulling and twisting straight away, exactly the ways he knew would make Dallon scrunch his eyes shut, press the back of his head into the pillow and groan loudly. It worked, obviously, and didn’t take too long before Dallon was ridiculously hard in Brendon’s hand, and flushed all over. Brendon was watching him with dark, lustful eyes, taking in every reaction a twist of his fingers or flick of his wrist created. He ducked his head down and looked up at Dallon through his lashes as his tongue flicked out to lick at the head. 

Dallon moaned, and put both hands in Brendon’s hair, as Brendon’s mouth closed around the head of his cock, sucking lightly before sinking down further. He hollowed his cheeks as he pulled off again, grinning up at Dallon.  
“Jesus, you sure know how to wake someone up.” Dallon gasped. Brendon giggled and moved to straddle Dallon’s hips again. He leaned down and nipped lightly at Dallon’s ear. Dallon gasped lightly and put his hands back on Brendon’s soft hips, using them to anchor himself. He could hear and feel Brendon breathe against the spot between his ear and neck, and just managed to catch a whispered, “Well, I’ve got a plan..” before there was a faint clicking noise as the radio clock on the bedside table caught on, obnoxiously blaring one of those radio hits Brendon loved singing along to, even if it was a girl’s voice,

_At a mile-a-minute_  
 _My heart beats to the limit_  
 _When I’m with you_  
 _So kiss me again_  
 _Underneath the moonlight_

Brendon jumped and swore under his breath. He shot the clock a sour look before reaching out to punch the off-button on top of it, cutting off the male half of the singing duo mid-sentence. Dallon chuckled as Brendon turned back to him. Brendon shot him a look as well, and Dallon’s laughter turned into a surprised gasp as Brendon reached a hand behind himself, grabbing the base of Dallon’s dick and pressing it to the cleft of his ass.  
“Shit, Bren,” Dallon moaned, putting his hands on Brendon’s thighs. Brendon leaned down to kiss him passionately, still rubbing against him. Dallon breathed hard through his nose, and his hands tightened.

Brendon pulled back again, sitting up and grabbing Dallon’s cock. He drew his hips up and, using his other hand to pull his cheeks apart, guided Dallon to press against his entrance. Dallon sucked in a breath as Brendon started to sink down on him, eyes slipped shut and lips parted. He didn’t stop untill Dallon was entirely inside him, and he moaned when Dallon’s hips twitched involuntarily, getting very close to hitting that exact spot.

Dallon put his hands on Brendon’s waist, and took in his expression - He would have expected to see pain mixed with a tiny bit of pleasure, he knew (from unwanted experience) what it felt like to take someone without any prepping at all, but the sheer pleasure adorning Brendon’s features left Dallon slightly confused. As Brendon pulled his hips up and sank down again though, Dallon felt how loose the ring of muscle was, how Brendon was slightly moist inside, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.  
“You fucking didn’t.” he muttered, grabbed Brendon’s waist and thrusted up. Brendon moaned and shoved his hips down, shooting Dallon a mischiveous smirk.  
“I might have.”  
“God, I love you.” Dallon gasped as he began thrusting into Brendon while the younger man started bouncing in his lap. Brendon opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat and was replaced with a loud moan as Dallon hit his swollen prostate, sending a wave of pure pleasure throughout his body, making his thighs quiver, the muscles in his torso clench and his fingers dig into Dallon’s chest.  
Dallon raised an eyebrow and kept his hips at that angle so he could hit that spot with every thrust.  
“Right there, huh?” he gasped, digging his fingers into Brendon’s hips. He nodded frantically, pushing back against the thrusts and letting a mixture of moans and whimpers fall from his lips.

As Dallon felt himself grow closer to the edge, he let one hand fall from Brendon’s hips to wrap around his cock. Brendon gasped and whimpered, but grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, shaking his head and choking out, “No, you first. Wanna feel you.”  
Dallon blinked at him, grabbed his waist tighly and rolled them over, then sat back on his knees, pulling Brendon up with him. Brendon wrapped his arms around Dallon’s neck, pressing their chests and lips together, and shoving his hips down, letting his moans slip into Dallon’s mouth. Dallon held his hips in place and thrusted into him, well aware that Brendon’s cock rubbed between their bellies.

On a particularly hard thrust, Brendon threw his head back and cried out. The feeling of Brendon clenching around him and his nails digging into his shoulders had Dallon coming in an instant, groaning and pressing his face into the side of Brendon’s neck. Brendon pushed himself down and stayed, whimpering lowly at the feeling of warm liquid filling him. Dallon’s hips rocked ever so slightly as he came down from his high, his hands slacking on Brendon’s sides, his forehead resting on his shoulder, puffing out warm breaths against his skin. Brendon dragged a hand through Dallon’s hair, kissing his temple, his cheek and his neck.

Dallon lifted his head and caught Brendon’s lips with his own in a slow, intimate kiss. His hand slid down between them to wrap around Brendon’s cock, closing at the base and dragging upwards, flicking his thumb over the slit. Brendon drew in a sharp breath, arching his back and sinking his teeth into his lowerlip. He’d already been so incredibly close, it only took a few drags of Dallon’s hand, untill Brendon was biting down on his shoulder, shallowing thrusting into his hand as he released between them. Dallon pressed a warm kiss to his temple and pulled him through it, his other hand a steady anchor on Brendon’s lower back.

 

“Come on, you can’t stay in bed all day! It’s your birthday!” Brendon whined as he pulled hard on Dallon’s arm, putting everything he had into dragging him out of bed. Dallon was heavier though, and had absolutely no intentions of getting up.  
“Exactly. That is why I’m allowed to stay here.” he jerked his arm back, which had Brendon losing his balance, stumbling towards the bed and landing half-lying over Dallon. He huffed and narrowed his eyes.  
“I am going to sit on your face if you don’t get up _now_.”  
Dallon raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, “We’d both like that way too much.”  
Brendon slapped his chest, “You are unbelievable! Get up, for god’s sake!”  
When Dallon didn’t respond, only closed his eyes and circled his arms around Brendon’s waist, Brendon made a frustrated noise and pouted at him.  
“Why won’t you celebrate your birthday with me?”  
Dallon frowned and tightened his arms, keeping his eyes closed, “I do, but why does it have to involve getting up?”  
“If you don’t, you are not getting any more today.”  
Dallon finally opened his eyes, “What?”  
Brendon smirked victoriously, “Stay in bed all day, fine, but I won’t join you.”  
Dallon whined and let go of Brendon to push himself into a sitting position. He knew that Brendon wasn’t joking around.

He got up from the bed and stretched his arms over his head, groaning as something popped in his lower back. Brendon giggled at him from the dresser where he was pulling on a pair of jeans.  
“God, I’m old.” Dallon whined, rolling his shoulders. Brendon walked over to him, snaking his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his neck.  
“Yes, you are.”  
Dallon groaned again and pushed him away.  
“Why did I put up with you for four years, again?” he said, walking over to the dresser to find something to put on. He heard Brendon laugh behind him.  
“You love me.”

 

After a year, Nate had moved in with Rachel, and Dallon had moved in with Brendon. Dallon had feared for his life the first time Mr. and Mrs. Urie came over to visit. Brendon hadn’t mentioned his age, but he had made the state of their relationship clear to his parents, and in Dallon’s opinion, it was easy to tell he was a lot older. Neither of Brendon’s parents had said anything at first, merely frowned at him. Over dinner though, Mrs. Urie dropped the question, obviously trying hard to make it sound casual. Dallon had mumbled out an embarrased, “Twenty-seven.” which had made the woman’s eyes about twice as big. She’d looked like she was about to say something, when Mr. Urie had jumped to his rescue, asking “What’s your surname, Dallon?”  
At the answer of “Weekes.”, he’d looked just as surprised as his wife.  
“ _The_ Dallon Weekes?” he’d asked with disbelief. Dallon had blinked at him.  
“The golf-player?” he’d continued, and Brendon had exploded in a fit of giggles.  
As it turned out, Boyd Urie was an eager golf-player and fan, well aware of who Dallon was - A detail Brendon hadn’t thought about. Dallon had ended up talking about golf with Brendon’s father for the rest of the night. As he crawled into bed that night, Brendon had looked at him in the dark and said, “I didn’t think you liked talking about golf.”  
And that was true. Up untill that point, Dallon had felt nauseas even thinking about it. He didn’t really have an explanation for the sudden shift, so the one he offered was putting an arm around Brendon’s waist and saying, “I guess you healed me.”

 

It had been Brendon’s idea to leave England when he graduated high school. Dallon was perfectly content in London, but Brendon was eager to leave. Apparently, the university of Chicago had a fantastic music programme that Brendon had to go on. Dallon hadn’t really ever been able to say no to Brendon, and anyway, Chicago sounded nice. He remembered something about a high school friend living there, and maybe going back to America was a good idea.

After settling in in their new apartment and Brendon starting his studies, Dallon had gone on quest to find the high school friend, Patrick. He’d been one of the people Dallon stopped talking to out of nowhere before leaving the country, and the last he’d heard was that Patrick was a music journalist for some Chicago newspaper.  
He still was, when Dallon finally found his name and phone number on the website of said newspaper. After a few lunches together, Patrick had let it slip that his newspaper needed someone to write for the sports section, and really, that was too great an offer to turn down.

 

So when his, now twenty-two year old, music student boyfriend bound up to him with a small box in his hands, kissing him on the lips and smiling through a, “Happy birthday, love.”, Dallon was a happy, though thirty years old, sports reporter.

“Seriously, Bren, I tell you every year not to get me anything.” Dallon said, unable to hold back his smile. Brendon shrugged and grinned back at him.  
“And every year, I get you something anyway.”  
Dallon peeled the paper off of the box Brendon had handed to him, letting it fall to the floor as he lifted the lid of the square, black box. Inside was a bowtie, plain and black, but definitley made of silk. Dallon looked up at Brendon with a questioning look on his face. Brendon bit his lip and stuffed his hands in his pockets.  
“You’d look brilliant in a tuxedo.”  
Dallon blinked at him, “What do you..?”  
Brendoon exhaled and grabbed one of Dallon’s hands, stepping closer and holding it to his chest. He swallowed, and looked up at Dallon with huge eyes.  
“I think you should marry me.”  
Dallon blinked and gaped at him, then swallowed, opened and closed his mouth a few times, staring at Brendon, who was staring back with an expectant look on his face.  
“I think so too.” Dallon managed in a voice that cracked midways.

 

“You have got to hear this song!” Brendon exclaimed as he jumped up from the couch where he’d been lying over Dallon. Dallon stared after him, as he hurried to the stereo, fiddling around with some buttons and CD’s untill a melody started up. Brendon turned and smiled at him, walking back towards him and singing along to it as the song started.

_Come feel my heart_  
 _It's beating like a drum and I confess_  
 _When you're around_  
 _It's like an army's marching through my chest_

He pulled Dallon up from the couch, guiding him to the middle of the room and wrapping his arms around his neck, still singing.

_And there's nothing I can do_  
 _I just gravitate towards you_  
 _You're pulling on me like the moon_  
 _I just wanna get you sideways_  
 _I'll say anything I can_  
 _To get me more than just a dance_  
 _Tell me where to put my hands_  
 _You know that you could be my favorite one-night stand_  
 _You get me higher_

Brendon was grinning as wide as ever, moving his hips to the beat of the song under Dallon’s hands.

_What would you do if I told you that I la, la, la, la, loved you?_  
 _Do if I said it tonight?_  
 _What would you do if I told you that I la, la, la, la, loved you?_  
 _'Cause you know I la, la, la, lie_

“Tell me you don’t think this fits us.” Brendon said, his smile so wide Dallon was worried his face might split in half. He had to admit it though; It was very fitting. Even more so, as Brendon joined the singer on the stereo on the next verse.

_I'm not like the other boys_  
 _'Cause with you I've got no choice_  
 _You make me wanna lose my voice_  
 _I just wanna get you sideways_  
 _No, I'm not the type to lie_  
 _But I might just start tonight_  
 _Let me turn off all these lights_  
 _You know that you could be my favorite lullaby_  
 _You get me higher_

Dallon slid his hands a little lower, to the back of Brendon’s thighs, and pulled him up. Brendon wrapped his legs around Dallon’s middle, giggling and pressing his forehead to Dallon’s. His smile was as intoxicating as it had been that first night, his eyes still sparkled with something playful and his fingers were warm on the back of Dallon’s neck. He was heavy, but not so much that Dallon had any problems holding him up, and anyway, he’d carry Brendon anywhere if he had to. Especially now that it wasn’t _boyfriend_ but _fiancée_ , and fuck, Dallon really hadn’t thought he’d ever get married again, but there wasn’t the slightest shadow of doubt in his mind that marrying Brendon was the right and the best thing to do.

Brendon ran a hand through his hair, resting a hand on Dallon’s cheek.  
“I love you, you know.” he said quietly. Dallon tightened his grip and caught his lips in the most intimate kiss he could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. I know it's crap, but come on, it was my first time writing something like this, so don't be _too_ mean, yeah? I'm already working on new things, and I'll probably put up a few one-shots now and again. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and huge thanks to anyone who stopped by and spend time reading this!
> 
> Title: The Cab - Endlessly  
> Song on the radio: We Are The In Crowd - Kiss Me Again (feat. Alex Gaskarth)  
> The last song: The Cab - La La (i fucking fell off my chair when i realized how fitting this one is)


End file.
